


I rode away from your station

by orphan_account



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-08
Updated: 2010-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The third time they're drunk and sloppy, and it barely warrants mentioning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I rode away from your station

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Sunset Rubdown's "Dragon's Lair"

The first time is hopped up on adrenaline and sleep-deprivation, both crowding so close together to become indistinguishable from one another. They're down to quarter watch, most of the men tucked down in their graves, catching the sleep they can. Brad's awake, because of course Brad is, and Nate's awake because the lack of sleep has pressed into an alertness, exhausted and strung out.

That's not an excuse, that's not enough of an excuse, not anything that can explain why when Brad goes over the berm Nate follows like it's necessary, like there's something to be had. And that doesn't explain the way Brad turns, just a little too tense, and relaxes, visibly relaxes, when he sees that it's Nate.

That doesn't explain why Nate fists his hands in Brad's MOPP, just a fraction away from a fight, why Brad's only reaction to that is to kiss him, too rough, biting, his teeth cutting into Nate's lip and Nate not pulling away.

They jump apart at the sound of something, who knows what, but it's enough, the shadow of a sound, too much.

They don't do it again in theater.

*

The second time Nate's a civilian. Officially, just barely, looking into the future, not entirely sure what he's supposed to see there, what there's supposed to be for him, when he's left everything that's familiar, awful, but familiar, and the war isn't his problem anymore.

Except it's a problem, because Nate sees his marines after, and they're still his marines. He feels responsible for every single one of them, and he doesn't know how the fuck he's going to protect them from American soil.

He calls Brad because he wants to talk about it, and he wants to ignore the issue, and he's not sure whether Brad will pry it out of him or leave it alone, but whatever Brad does is what Nate wants.

He flies out to California because he needs a change of scenery. That's all there is to it, beaches and sunlight and Brad picking him up at the airport, stiff posture and a slant of nerves to his smile. Nate doesn't think he's ever seen Brad nervous, not like this, and he doesn't know what he could possibly have done, what he could possibly be, to make Brad go tight and tense and hopeful.

They fuck on sheets, brilliant, clean sheets, Brad opening him up slow on his fingers and looking so focused Nate half thinks he's going to drown.

*

The third time they're drunk and sloppy, and it barely warrants mentioning.

*

It starts to blur together, eventually, bursts of stops and starts, phone calls from halfway across the country and then, less often, halfway around the world, Brad fuzzy on a satellite phone. It doesn't stop, is the thing, not for long enough to call it an end, while Nate goes on dates with nice girls from his work, and Brad is probably fucking whores, and none of that matters because when Brad gets home, the first stop is going to be at Nate's door.

It blurs together, Brad's fingers on his face, curled around his cock, inside him, Brad's body around him, until it's just a mess of memory and something neither of them name. It works best that way.


End file.
